


Say what you want, they sure know how to make ‘em pretty

by rivkat



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: Eight crazy nights, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For avidrosette: SPN x DA, Sam/Alec/Dean (all adults), what if always-all-right Alec finally found a place where he was permitted to be vulnerable?  AU for SPN: the Pulse interrupted the whole breaking-the-seals thing around S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say what you want, they sure know how to make ‘em pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to giandujakiss for beta.

Maybe it started because Sam was pissed at himself for not noticing that he was running away from the explosion with _the wrong fucking person_. 

In his defense, who expects a doppelganger to replace his brother in the middle of a firefight?

Okay, given their histories, that was probably not the best argument. Who expects it _twice_? And Alec had been trying to do the right thing, getting a bunch of kids out of the way in what had turned out to be a skirmish with the breeding cult, though the Winchesters didn’t know it at the time. All in all it had been a very confusing day.

When Sam figured out that Alec was his own person--after the preliminaries, all the tests for things with faces not their own, the explanations that didn’t really explain anything, the wanting-not-to-believe that turned into acceptance because there was nothing in this world that the Winchesters found unbelievable any more except that they’d catch a break—his immediate thought had been: God, this guy’s a bigger jerk than Dean. (When Sam met Max for the first time was an entirely different story, and one that Sam was never going to tell to anyone else. Dean had his own reasons for keeping silent on that one, though Sam wouldn’t put it past him to give a highly edited version in which Sam played both their parts. Especially the parts without pants.)

Naturally, it turned out to be a lot more complicated than Alec being a complete asshole. Sam wondered, sometimes, what Dean would’ve been like raised under similar circumstances: real military instead of guerrilla training. Regimented and indoctrinated, but still isolated; he and his brothers and sisters constantly scrutinized and disciplined because of what had happened with Max.

Dean was quick to appreciate that having a nearly-identical twin, who was also super-fast and super-strong, had some highly useful (and illegal) applications. Dean also liked having a drinking buddy, though he eventually realized that he’d die of alcohol poisoning before being able to match Alec. Sam would’ve thought that he’d sour on having a twin who could do practically anything better than he could, but Sam hadn’t counted on the fact that Dean was still far superior at pulling girls. Yes, the face generally got them halfway. But, as Dean never tired of explaining, there was an art to getting the panties to drop in fifteen minutes or less, and he was a master craftsman, whereas Alec had a bad tendency to coast on his looks and end up smacked instead of—well, Sam didn’t need to finish that sentence.

In any event, Dean seemed to think that the scales were balanced.

Sam generally left them to their carousing. Dean rolled his eyes and made fun of Sam for sitting in a corner of whatever dive bar they happened to be in and, if at all possible, reading. But Dean kept looking over, checking to make sure Sam was still there. That was about as much as Sam could ask for. Every once in a while Alec also turned his eyes towards Sam, and Sam refused to drop his gaze; Alec always looked away first and went back to his glass or his girl of the night. As far as Sam could tell, Dean and Alec didn’t fulfill any girl’s twin fantasies. (Maybe that was just a guy thing.)

Sam didn’t mean for it to happen, but within a few months they were hanging out pretty much constantly in the upper Northwest, taking jobs where even with the checkpoints Alec was only a long drive away. Regularly even taking jobs with Alec, when Max got sick of him or when he wanted the opportunity to commit some larceny far from home. 

Sam’s rule, which Dean didn’t fight very hard, was that they had to have a real hunt. Yes, there was plenty wrong with the world, but the Winchesters were specialists, and even with the government in pieces there were still usually other ways to deal with the multitude of purely human evils. He made exceptions for transgenic trouble, because transgenics were close enough to supernatural beings for people to get all superstitious and ‘burn the witch’ about them, and because he was half convinced that the breeding cult was truly demonic in origin. Protecting transgenics seemed like the fastest route to learning more about the cult and how to stop it. And Alec was always more up for a hunt when there was some potential cult angle. He didn’t say, but Sam figured he was collecting information for Max and her family.

Nonetheless, mostly it was ghosts and beasties, same as when they’d been growing up. Post–Pulse hunting was easier in some ways (cops generally didn’t care about grave desecration any more), harder in others. Sam missed the regular hot showers of his youth; these days a roadside motel was as likely to feature a heated kettle and a washtub, not to mention some guards with shotguns. 

A couple of months into their quasi-partnership, a cult acolyte who’d been killing kids in Spokane looked from Alec to Dean and said something about transgenics corrupting angelic bloodlines before she swallowed her suicide capsule. Alec hadn’t particularly freaked, as far as Sam could tell, though Sam had been wondering since then about whether the yellow-eyed demon had been trying to ‘corrupt angelic bloodlines,’ maybe for different reasons. Alec had thrown himself into demonology with a focus Sam remembered from the time after Jessica’s death. Sam wasn’t sure that supernatural monsters were linked to the human ones who’d created the X series, but neither could he rule it out, and he had to admit Alec’s uncanny (engineered) memory for mythos and spellwork was useful on a hunt.

By that time, Alec was kind of like badly fitting boots: a constant low-level irritation. Mostly a distraction. Okay, Sam _hated_ that little smirk he threw Sam any time he and Dean went off to do idiotic ‘manly’ things. Like it was some sort of competition, one that Sam didn’t automatically win by virtue of being _Dean’s real live brother_ , raised with him and everything. What was a little demon blood compared to animal DNA, in the greater scheme?

Alec wasn’t all bad: A useful source of information at times, when Sam could sort out what he really knew from what he thought he knew. A good hand in a fight, obviously. Weird, huge holes in his basic knowledge. Sometimes it was amusing just to listen to Dean throw out pop-culture reference after pop-culture reference and meet Alec’s disbelieving incomprehension. And then Dean would rig up a generator and a VCR and they’d have six hours of _Alien_ movies, or they’d head out to a hunt with AC/DC on repeat, and Sam would remember that many of the things Alec didn’t know and Dean did weren’t worth knowing. (Alien3 being a perfect case in point, despite how hilarious it was that the first movie freaked Alec the fuck out.)

There was no such thing as stability in their lives, but the world hadn’t nearly ended in a while, and Sam was starting to catch his breath. Which should have been a warning.

****

“Sam,” Alec said. Sam suppressed the urge to frown as he dumped his stuff out on his and Dean’s bed. It wasn’t Alec’s fault the desk clerk had assumed they were two brothers and some random limping guy, or that she’d tried to put Alec and Dean in their own room. 

“Yeah?” he said, wishing that Dean was back from his food run to serve as a buffer. Sam really hoped this wasn’t another get-rich-quick scheme, since in Alec’s hands they tended to be get-nearly-dead-quick schemes as well, and Dean always had to be talked out of going along.

Alec sat down on Sam’s bed. He leaned forward, hands on his knees. He looked almost exactly like Dean when Sam had said he was leaving for Stanford. “Listen,” he said, and then stopped. “You need to get that leg taken care of.”

Sam had the feeling that Alec had started out planning to say something different. 

“I’m fine,” Sam said heavily.

“Tell that to the guy who can’t smell that you’re still bleeding.” 

His leg did hurt like a motherfucker. With as much dignity as he could manage (not much, in all honesty), he dragged himself over to Alec’s bed and lowered himself to face Alec. “Okay.”

“Uh, clothes?” Alec gestured. “Can smell, can’t sew with you overdressed.”

“Fine,” Sam huffed and started fumbling with his belt.

“Don’t do me any favors,” Alec bitched, but he went for the medical kit which he somehow knew was in Dean’s bag. 

The slice was high up, near Sam’s groin, not deep, but it stung badly when Alec pushed the hem of his boxers up and cleaned it out. Sam kept his jaw clenched.

Alec sat back on his heels and looked up at Sam’s face. “Strip.”

“What?”

“Your five shirts and your underwear—black’s good, very practical, by the way—are getting in my way.”

Sam wanted to gripe, but Alec had a point. Unfortunately, removing his clothes had the necessary consequence of leaving him naked, with Alec kneeling between his thighs, and it had been a _long_ time and medium-scale pain didn’t exactly deter the rest of his body any more. He stared at the closed motel room door as Alec applied the surgical glue and bandages.

He knew Alec had noticed when Alec drew in a quick breath, then snorted.

“Should I take care of that too?” Alec asked.

“No!” Sam snapped. He could feel his face flushing, and he was seriously considering scooting his ass backwards on the bed to get away from Alec, no matter how dumb he’d look.

“Look,” Alec said, “I know you’ve got a problem with me,” he said and focused his eyes on Sam’s thigh. 

“What? No,” Sam denied. He _was_ a Winchester, despite what Dean said about emo. Like a guy capable of crying over a bent fender on his beloved car had any room to talk. Also, he would really appreciate having clothes on for this conversation, but it looked like that was out of the question.

A muscle twitched in Alec’s jaw. “You were so busy glaring at me tonight that you didn’t notice the werewolf sneaking up on you.” 

“I was not—” Sam stopped. 

“I’m here because there are things I need to know. I’m not trying to take him away from you,” Alec said, and put his hands on Sam’s thighs. 

Sam opened his mouth to deny that he thought any such thing, but then Alec opened _his_ mouth, and Sam’s thoughts exploded into confetti. Hot and wet—Alec was trying to buy Sam’s goodwill—holy fuck so tight, he wasn’t even pulling off to _breathe_ \--some extra transgenic skill set—this was the world’s dumbest hookup ever, and Sam had fucked a demon so he ought to know—his thumbs rubbing circles on Sam’s thighs—Sam _didn’t_ want him around, not most days, it wasn’t fair to think that would change—the noises he was making, slurping and even a sort of hum, like he was enjoying himself—fucking Dean’s face—

Sam came with a groan that felt ripped out of him, like falling through a sheet of glass. Every nerve lit up; his heart raced in his chest like he’d just staked a vampire about to kill him. Alec pulled off slowly, still sucking and almost painful, but Sam couldn’t make his hands work to shove him off faster.

Alec looked up at him—still fully dressed, Sam realized—and wiped his spit-shiny mouth. “We good?” he asked. His smirk was fragile, and entirely familiar: a thin scrim of bravado over a black hole of not-good-enough. It wasn’t fair at all that Sam had to deal with this right after having every switch in his brain flipped, but fair wasn’t usually part of his life.

“Did you—” Sam gulped. “Did you want to do that?”

Alec shrugged. “Wouldn’t’ve done it if I didn’t want it.”

And Sam _knew_ that was a lie, because he’d seen Alec beg, borrow and steal when a transgenic at Terminal City needed something their small community couldn’t produce on its own. He’d seen Alec after questioning a rogue member of the breeding cult. There was plenty that Alec did that he didn’t like much, despite not formally taking orders any more. Fucking Sam to avoid trouble wouldn’t even rate.

“Alec,” Sam tried, so far out of his depth he was hurting for oxygen. “You don’t have to—I know that you—I just want—”

Alec grinned, not the fuck-you grin Sam was used to but something a shade softer. “You don’t have any idea what you want,” he said, but not meanly. “I totally get that, by the way.”

When he levered himself up with his hands on Sam’s knees to brush his lips, salty-wet, across Sam’s, Sam didn’t rear back.

The click of the opening door was soft, but still loud enough. Sam looked up, and Dean was there, mouth open and eyebrows raised almost comically, like a character in a silent movie. 

“Dean!” Sam said, shoving Alec away, but it was too late. Dean was gone.

“I’ll get him, you’ll never get dressed in time,” Alec said, and it was true so Sam didn’t yell at him, just watched the door close behind him like it had closed behind Dean. Sam still pulled on his shorts and T-shirt while he waited.

Five minutes felt like five hours before the key turned in the lock. Alec was first through the door, and Sam got up, prepared to go search the area by foot if he needed to, but Dean was behind him. As soon as Dean was inside, Alec closed the door, and stood in front of it.

Dean wasn’t looking at him. 

“It’s okay,” Alec said, which was not surprising because 50% of the time what came out of the kid’s mouth was a total lie. “Dean’s cool.”

Even Dean was surprised enough at the audaciousness of that to drop his not-looking-at-anyone schtick and stare at Alec. Alec smiled at him. “You’re cool, right, Dean?” And he stepped close, grabbed Dean’s jacket, and pushed him up against the door, the better to kiss him.

Dean’s mouth opened—maybe Dean was just automatically that slutty—and then his eyes darted to Sam over Alec’s shoulder, and he pushed Alec back. Alec broke the kiss, but his hands were still wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, pinning him to the door. 

They were the same height. They even had the same dumb, spiky haircut. Sam could barely hear what Alec was murmuring, something about his brothers and sisters and how they took care of each other, over the roaring of blood in his ears. 

Alec slid down to his knees, graceful as a cat, and Sam could see Dean’s face unobstructed, uncertain and turned-on as he thunked the back of his head against the door. His eyes flickered to meet Sam’s, and for one second Sam could see what he was thinking-- _You fucked a guy who looks just like me, just like me, Sammy_ \--and then his eyes slitted nearly shut and his mouth opened on a groan as Alec eased his hardening dick out of his jeans. Dean’s not-quite-decision to stop thinking and postpone any consideration of difficult emotional issues was written on his entire body as it loosened and slumped back against the door.

Dean was polite, or Alec’s grip on his hips was stronger than it looked, because he just let Alec bob up and down on him, his fingers clenching and unclenching as Alec slurped and smacked and the base of his cock disappeared and reappeared. Sam wasn’t sure when he’d moved to get a better view, but his own dick was hardening from the sight and from the memory of how Alec had felt doing that to him.

Alec hollowed his cheeks one last time, then pulled off. Dean whimpered and Sam kind of wanted to grab Alec just in sympathy.

“Get naked,” Alec directed. “I’ll finish you on the bed.”

Unsurprisingly, the prospect of an orgasm made Dean more compliant than the prospect of Hell had. Dean didn’t say a word as he stripped—Alec doing the same, an eerie near-mirror—and pressed his hard-on to his stomach as he walked stiff-legged over to the bed. Alec pushed him so that he was sitting up against the headboard, Dean watching the entire time like he thought he might be dreaming. Alec climbed over him, bracing so that they weren’t touching, ass tilted up. Before he bent his head to take Dean’s red and spit-shiny dick again, he looked back over his shoulder. “Lube’s in my duffel,” he told Sam, and widened his knees in unmistakable invitation.

If Sam hadn’t already come once, he would have then. As it was, he nearly lost it when, turned away from the action to search for the promised lube, he heard Alec tell Dean to come on and fuck his mouth.

Sam hurriedly pulled his boxers and T-shirt off, then squeezed a palmful of lube into his hand. He knelt between Dean’s legs—between Dean’s and Alec’s legs, sweet mother of fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing but he knew that he wanted it—and started with two fingers, since there was no point in hesitating. Alec made a sound around Dean’s cock that wasn’t discouraging.

Sam worked another finger in before Alec pulled off of Dean, ignoring Dean’s aggrieved whimper. “Come on,” he urged. “What, are you worried my superstrong muscles will crush you?”

“Well, I am _now_ ,” Sam said automatically, but he was already moving to comply.

Alec was hotter than a regular human, something Sam had known but hadn’t fully understood until he was buried deep and uncontrollable inside Alec. Sam grabbed at his hips, trying to hold him still while Sam adjusted to the stunning tightness. They stayed like that until Dean said, strangled, “Sam, Sammy, I gotta—” Sam couldn’t raise his head to meet Dean’s eyes, but he nodded once, and then they were both fucking Alec, finding a rhythm as easily as if they were casing a haunted house.

Dean came first, groaning loud enough to wake the neighbors if there’d been any. Alec pulled off, almost sitting back on his haunches, and Sam lost it, latching his mouth onto Alec’s hot, solid shoulder just to keep himself from saying anything. He pounded Alec once, twice, three times and came, feeling like he’d been blown apart, barely remembering to pull out and roll to the side instead of crushing them.

When Sam’s vision cleared, Dean was still staring up at Alec, sex-dazed. Alec was hard, his dick red and stiff against his belly. Alec half tugged, half urged Dean down until he was laying flat, at which point Alec grabbed a pillow and tucked it under Dean’s hips, moving him with a casual strength that was almost more exciting than anything else he’d done so far. (Possibly Sam was a little bit bent.) 

“You ready, baby?” Alec crooned, and Dean didn’t bristle, instead pulling up his legs to give Alec better access while Sam wondered what other secrets his brother had been hiding. Alec slicked himself up, tightening his hand at the base of his cock in the first sign Sam had seen that he was as close to out of control as Sam himself, and didn’t bother to open Dean up any before pressing the head of his cock up to Dean’s ass.

They all three gasped as Alec pushed himself inside. Sam watched as Dean’s eyes slipped closed and Alec, bracing the upper half of his body far enough up that he could stare down at Dean’s chest and face, started giving it to him in earnest. Dean turned his head towards Sam, his face so flushed that his freckles had all but disappeared, his mouth swollen and wet. Sam looked up and saw Alec biting his lip, looking exactly like Dean from years back, when Sam had walked in on him with some girl and Dean hadn’t even paused. The fleshy slap of their bodies was loud over their ragged breathing. Sam had a moment of wanting it to be like porn, wanted to order them to contort themselves and let him see how Alec’s cock was opening Dean up, but then his eyes caught again on Dean’s closed eyelids, the sweat-clumped arcs of his lashes, ecstatic as a saint’s, and that was what he needed to be watching.

“Fucking made for this, weren’t you?” Alec mumbled, and it was so close to what Sam had been thinking that he didn’t even resent it. Dean didn’t seem to mind either, groaning and hitching his legs further up to cross his ankles over Alec’s lower back.

By the time Alec cursed and stiffened, throwing his head back while he slammed into Dean so hard the bed shuddered, Sam was all the way hard again, stroking himself lazily and trying to figure out how he wanted Alec next.

Alec panted for a minute, then rolled off of Dean, who was doing some heavy breathing of his own. Now he was between Sam and Dean—there wasn’t a lot of room even on a king bed for three guys their size, so he was only an inch or so from Sam’s face as he inspected Sam’s renewed erection. He made a little approving sound, like Dean at his crassest, and Sam would’ve punched him if it wouldn’t have meant moving his hand from his dick.

“What are you waiting for?” Alec asked. Before Sam could process a response, Alec grabbed Sam’s arm and put his wet hand on Dean’s chest. Sam’s fingers clutched automatically. Dean’s skin was hot and slick and familiar, his body shaking with his unsteady breaths. With Alec between them, Sam couldn’t see his face.

“Oh God,” Sam managed.

“It’s okay,” Alec said again, and Sam was seriously going to have to start adding ‘not’ to every sentence that came out of his pretty lying mouth, but Sam was already turning on his side to get a better grip on Dean, his hand smoothing over Dean’s abs and curving around his hip. Somehow Alec scrambled out of the way, switching their places with grace and economy that Sam didn’t give a damn about. He could see Dean’s expression now, and it was equal parts terrified and terrifying.

“My turn to watch,” Alec said. “He’s ready for you,” and Sam wasn’t sure whom he was addressing, though in all honesty it was probably Dean. It wasn’t safe and it wasn’t right, but why should this be any different from anything else in their lives?

“Sam,” Dean said, except without any volume: his lips shaping Sam’s name.

“Yeah,” he answered, because he had to, because all his nos to Dean were years past.

Dean drew his knees up again. Sam wrestled himself into place, shaking but not stopping. With one hand he guided himself to where Dean was slick and open for him. He reached out with the other and grabbed Dean’s hand, pushing it up to the side of Dean’s head and lacing their fingers together as he sank inside. “Dean,” he breathed, stunned by the slippery heat of him, the way Dean’s whole body trembled against his like he was a brash teenager again, on the run from a monster and pretending not to be afraid.

Sam lowered his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, overwhelmed. His back bowed as he moved in and out of Dean, not smooth but slow. Dean’s free hand ghosted over Sam’s hair, settling on the back of his neck, sweat-damp. Dean’s knees pressed into his waist, rocking them until Sam adopted Dean’s rhythm as his own. When the contortion got too hard to bear, he flattened himself onto Dean. Dean’s mouth ended up pressed into the skin above his collarbone, licking and sucking and making filthy smacking noises in counterpoint to another fleshy sound that Sam’s dazed brain eventually identified as Alec, jacking himself off as he peered over Sam’s shoulder.

This time, the orgasm was slow, whole-body, knocking him down with the force of an angry poltergeist.

He didn’t move for a long time, until Dean grumbled and shoved, his fingers curling against Sam’s skin to pull him back even as he pushed Sam away. 

Eventually, Sam organized a desultory cleanup, ruined when they ended up fucking Dean crosswise across the bed, and then again when he and Alec crammed into the tiny motel bathtub and Sam blew him under the hot but low-pressure stream from the shower. Sam might’ve envied Alec’s refractory period just a bit; his own dick felt like it wanted a week off before beginning physical therapy.

When they got out, Dean was passed out where they’d left him, and didn’t react when they hauled him into a less bed-hogging position. He was going to be disgusting in the morning, Sam reflected, but then for once Sam had gotten something out of that fact.

Alec cleared his throat, and Sam left off his fond contemplation of Dean’s sleeping face mashed into the pillow. The contrast between the two of them was minimal with Dean asleep and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out—just some extra softness around Alec’s jaw. “I’m gonna—” Alec said, and waved his hand at the other bed. His bed.

Sam could have told himself that there were practical reasons for what he did next: they needed Alec not alienated, and the morning would be marginally less weird as the aftermath of a threesome than with just Sam and Dean. But even without all that, he thought he would’ve smiled the same way. “Stay,” he said softly, meaning it.

Alec flushed, but nodded resolutely. He turned his back to them, his shoulder curving up like a warning flag, and Sam let him have his small self-protection. There wasn’t much room, and Sam might well end up pushed off onto the floor like one of the bears from the kid’s song. But, with Dean’s sleepy heat against his shoulder, his body aching and his mind nearly blank, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
